One Flew Over the Moon's Nest~
Written for my in-real-life best friend known here as "Lady of the Fandoms". We are so much like Sherlock(me) and John(you) it isn't funny, not so? Haha, I love you, mate.;)
Note to readers:If you happen to live in the United Kingdom or elsewhere, please pardon the misuse of some English phrases, or the slip of any unfamiliar slang terms. I am an American.
Is there ever, in reality, an actual case when someone can look back and say exactly,"And that's when the fight started?"
With Sherlock and John this would be a feat in the impossible.
They were always bickering about , from our unbiased point of view, some pretty silly things.
It is a clear sign of endearment when two people can disagree that often, and still live under the same roof, under a sort of peace treaty. The two, over time, had become more like brothers than friends in this respect.
One night in particular comes to our attention, at the moment.
Sherlock was bored. He'd solved 15 mini cases in the last 72 hours. And , yes, already he was bored.
"Read a book. Of something you somehow possibly don't already know..."John had quipped, not even turning from where he was perched on the sofa, watching reruns of Doctor Who?.
"You talk as if that were a pretty extensive list.."Sherlock scoffed, as if the idea that he actually didn't know some things was absurd.
The show John was watching, gave him an idea. Maybe it wasn't fair to get a dig in at Sherlock when he was already cross, now that his fun of a "case spree", as John affectionately called it, was still, exhausted from helping out the last few 3 or so days, he was in a mischievous frame of mind.
"I know ,why don't you read a book about space, and how it works? Start with one written for Pre-K students, and move up, as cleary you know nothing about the solar system!"
Meanwhile on the television set, the beloved alien commader character,"Strax" was cursing the moon again.
Sherlock took incentive hearing the alien captain in question, and pulled forth his seemingly omnipresent violin he muttered,
"There's only one thing I ever bothered to learn about space, and that was about the moon, thank you very much, Strax, is it? I was interested to see if it affected the mentality of criminals in question, and therefore lunar eclipses perhaps driving up crime rates?"
"And therefore increasing business, and thus the jingle I'm SURE you've written for it!"John laughed quietly, "And here it comes in,"he looked at his watch,"Now.."
"Fly me to the moon, I hear there's murder in the stars, let me solve said murders on both Jupiter and Mars, The sky is filled with bodies, that's why astroids crash and burn, The world's so full of Bedlums, why can't space take its proper turn!"...
John was so taken aback by this jingle in particular, that he paused his show, and did a full 180 in his seat, blinking at Sherlock like he'd just landed, speaking of the devils, from Neptune.
Sherlock was oblivious to him, having lost himself in his "jingle".But he looked up after a minute,and the music ended abruptly, the violin making the same sound as the perverbial "cd rip" used in tv shows and movies, if you know what I mean...
"What's that face for?"
John blinked again, "Those aren't even the words to that song!"
"You know "Fly Me To The Moon'' and the rest is irrelevant." Sherlock cried, jabbing the bow at him, like a sword.
"You..can..NOT..go messing around with classic songs such as that..."
"I can do whatever I please ,this is my house..."
"Your house? You mean OUR house? And it's actually a flat, Mr. Always-Be-Technical-I'm-Never-Wrong-Genius!"
Dear readers, if I, observing from the outside, fly on their wall that I am, had any means of doing this, I would point my celestial remote control at them, such as in the movie "Click" with Adam Sandler, and freeze frame them in this moment, and say, that yes, ladies and gents, this is when the fight started.
Stupid fight? Oh yes...Very stupid...
Have we been amused by it thus far? I'm ashamed to say, I have, for my part. Observing how Sherlock's alabaster face has suddenly turned about the shade of a pineapple's flesh, disgusted with the very idea that his genius is in question. And John's hair standing up like a rooster's crazy head-dress. The both of them suddenly manically bickering about God knows what.
Bickering till Mrs. Hudson was so irritated that she, wonder of wonders comes bustling into the room, takes John's pistol off the table, fires it at the smiley face in the wall, missing and almost hitting the skull, but still blowing a random dot in the wall, a sort've nose for the face , only about 6 ft away from where the nose should be.
Sherlock and John freeze,and move, as wide -mouthed and silent as bankrupt and despondent mimes,to look in her direction...
"Boys.." she says in her sweet,grandmotherly tone, laying the pistol back where she found it, and dusting herself off.
"If you wish to continue having such domestics, go on and buy a house, because flats have neighbors ,in very close vaccinity, who can hear ,and it's coming out of YOUR rent, young man!" she pointed at Sherlock, "Because the bloody devil that's looking at me,hair standing up like a peacock's tail, made me do it!"
She smiled, sweetly as ever, and disappeared.
Long silence, like the silence in the Chaos-Before- Creation ,receded over the flat.
John and Sherlock had closed their eyes at the sheer and utter absurdity of what just happened. And then, daring to turn towards each other, each in his turn leaked open ,very carefully, the symmetrical eye of the other, and they looked sidelong at one another.
"John..."Sherlock began, appalled,..."Mrs. Hudson...we observe, we BOTH observe, I hope it wasn't just me...just deigned to "bust a cap" in us...as one might say."
John nodded,momentarily staring into oblivion, and then, squinted, and looked at him,and he looked over at him awkwardly, and swallowed..
" I think she was more or less "busting a cap" in the wall?"
"But to get our attention. John!" Sherlock leaped to his feet, and grabbed fistfulls of his raven curls."WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO MRS. HUDSON?!"
John's face turned the color of vanilla ice cream..."Oh Sherlock!"he leaped to his feet, and took Sherlock by the now flailing ,rail-thin arms.
"WE'VE RUINED HER!"
A few moments after the both of them had a bit of a panic(and I'm putting it mildly they were actually hysterical for atleast 20 minutes), they sat down on the floor,"Injun style" (as we used to say in an American elementary school classroom,when your humble fly-on-the-wall- Tennessean writer was a child. They were sitting with their legs folded over in a sort've "m" shape towards their bodies if this makes more sense).Sherlock put up his hand, as the President or other government official might do when taking his office, and John did the same,
"Repeat ,word for word, after me,"I, John Haymich Watson.."
"Uh, but you're Sherlock Holmes?"
"SAY WHAT APPLIES TO YOU,DUH!"
"ALRIGHT,YOU DONT HAVE TO YELL AT ME!"
They fell quiet again, and Sherlock laughed ,actually ashamed.
"You John Watson,"
"That's me...And you Sherlock Holmes,"
"Me too, yes, do solemly swear,in blood,"
"If it has to go that far for dramatic emphasis, then yes,"
"To maintain the domestic structure,"
"Meaning in layman's terms,'Mrs. Hudsons sanity',"
"To the utmost of my ability,"
"And to bite my tounge and clench my fist, even when I want to chin Sherlock hard enough that candy pops out of his mouth, like a pinada, because he's wrong!"
"And when I want to beat logical sense and deductive skill into John with a broomstick, because actually he is useually the wrong one, and is just mad because my brain works better, which is not my fault,"
"Amen and heck yes, and oh no, ..."
"And what the bloody devil are you saying and doing, John, and never mind, and get the needle, we must seal our vow in blood!"
"And jabbing you with this will give me great pleasure after that last row..."
"And actually, I'll do it myself, give me that!"
And John snatched the needle back, "Like I'm actually gonna let you do it yourself? You're liable to bleed to death all over the carpet,and we'll have to pay for your rent with the money for your burial, and regardless of wanting to beat the devil out of you, I don't want to see you do that.."
"Because why? I thought you said you'd be pleased?"
"Well because I love you so much I hate you.I hate that I love you. I hate to love you, I love that I hate you..I.."John blushed, stumbling over his words.
Sherlock's brows crinkled."I'm extremely confused, and that doesn't happen often...Good job,mate! Good job ! And I love to hate you too!"
And I suppose the moral of our story then is, disaggreement doesn't neccesarily signify a lack of affection. Our glimpse into their home is an experiment in the nature of brotherly love...I suppose it is a fickle, and a fervent, and a wonderful thing...